Parageusia
by teanotes
Summary: When it is impossible to live, the alternative is to dream. Random pairing drabbles. 3: Piper, Dylan – "You're right. I am using you."
1. ares, hebe

a/n: hoooly crap I knew it would come to this someday / this fic is about crack ships that I feel the need to tape together and rip apart so uh I'm sorry

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_First – Ares, Hebe_

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The sharp click of a door unlocking awoke Ares from his sleep, and, blinking away the drowsiness, he gathered his energy to snap at the offender.

"Leave at once," he told his pillow, hopefully loud enough for the party to hear. He hoped it wasn't Aphrodite sneaking in for another—

There was a squeak and then a sound reminiscent of a fall. Ares propped up his elbow and leaned on his hand, ready to lash out at whatever idiot decided to rile up a war god first thing in the morning, and then seeing—

"Oh," he realized, getting up from the blankets. His hand automatically lifted a slim arm that was connected to the body of a young woman in a thin layer of white dress, who seemed perpetually stuck to the holy marble floor of Ares's chambers.

"Hebe," addressed Ares to the girl. "You are not supposed to be here."

The wavy brown mane covered a head that stubbornly remained face down, even with a small tug Ares gave with her upper limb. Rolling his eyes, he bent down on his knees and prodded her stomach with his free hand. "Up."

She only shook her head, giving the floor thorough Eskimo kisses. He thought he would have to poke her again until she answered quietly. "You are missing something vital, brother of mine."

"Am I? And what is that?"

After centuries of practice, Ares could hear the pouting in her voice. "Clothes."

A large grin appeared upon his lips and he let go of Hebe's arm before dropping back onto the bed and pulling up the sheets.

"I am covered," Ares announced, satisfaction filling his chest.

Slowly, Hebe lifted her head, showing off her dimpled smile and youthful eyes. "Brother!"

"Why've you come into my chambers, Hebe?"

She plucked herself off the floor and skipped sweetly to the side of his bed, beaming. Biting down a potentially sarcastic remark, he pulled her onto his bed by her waist and sat her down beside him.

"I've come back from the meeting with Father and Mother!" Her eyes gleamed and tresses of her long hair pooled evenly along her collarbones, which were shown only in course of her fitted nightgown. He had to avert his eyes from traveling too far off to places he would regret.

"Is that so?" Ares asked, smiling at her obvious enthusiasm.

"They have asked me to immortalize a demigod, I'll have you know."

"Did they, now?"

"Do not patronize me, brother!" she chastised, and it took a while for Ares to have a grip on his laugher. "Mother says I'm going to marry this man!"

His laughter immediately drained, Ares frowned. "What?"

"Oh, yes," Hebe continued, oblivious to her brother's distress. "Heracles is his name, though I have the right to believe you know of him?"

"I know of him, but what is this nonsense about marriage?"

"Nonsense?" she repeated. "Why should it be nonsense? I think it is perfectly sensible. Father approves as well."

"Father has affairs as often as Apollo makes the sun rise," Ares informed, "Why should he have a say on marriage?"

Hebe stood from his bed and put her arms around herself. "What are you against, brother? _My marriage?_"

"You aren't even _married_ yet, Hebe!" Ares lashed out, tugging his bed sheets around his person, standing along with her. "You're the goddess of youth, and they expect you to marry a bastard child of Zeus?"

Even without her sharp intake of breath, he knew he had gone far enough. She hugged herself harder and a sad face not fit of her features made its way into their conversation.

"I came her to share the news, Ares," she said. "I had preconceived thoughts you would be happy for me."

There were hundreds of things he could do to make it all different, when the ideas flickered through his mind momentarily. But it was his feelings that weighed in harder.

"Then you were very wrong."

The tears built up in her eyes would be an image that scarred his mind for wars to come. As she fled his room with no sound as a warning, all Ares could wonder was why war needed forgiveness so dearly.


	2. sally, thanatos

a/n: this took a mind for its own oops let's pretend it classifies as a drabble

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_Second – Sally, Thanatos_

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The nightmares seemed to lessen the more days passed she didn't visit their graves.

Sally's heard the saying before, of how nightmares could catch you like the plague, but she felt it was a closer feeling to watching someone you loved die of the plague rather than yourself. You would see them bubonic-infested, laying in a patch of medieval century bedspreads, and feel so helpless watching them suffer you'd do something more drastic than crying.

Only, Sally's parents didn't die of the plague. They died of faulty planes and unknown circumstances.

It would make sense if it were an important occasion if she was considering going back to that dreary cemetery again, but it was only a Wednesday evening and the only thing that passed as important was that that morning Uncle Rich attempted revising the third copy of his will again before spilling tapioca all over his khakis and Sally had to help him change, being late for work the second time this week.

Maybe it was the weather.

Around three o'clock, Sally slipped out of her last shift of the day at the diner and hopped on he next public bus to the cemetery. There was no time to buy flowers, which she was okay with only because Sally never really liked having to choose which was best kind for dead people, anyway.

She leaned her forehead atop the window glass, watching her city pass by and routinely tried ignoring any strange sights flickering in and out of existence. It was not a day to talk to any of the monsters that showed themselves, as tempting as it was to get off at one stop to tell a small horned creature to stay off the streets when the light was green, in fear of running it over. (If it appeared again tomorrow, then she would inform the creature. Unless it doesn't attack her first. She still had scars on her elbows from the last time her misunderstandings had gone awry.)

When the bus had stopped at her stop, Sally had to stop from dashing out the vehicle after seeing one woman sitting behind her had scales hidden beneath her feather boa. Not today, she thought vehemently.

The only thing she remotely enjoyed going to the cemetery for was the fact that it was autumn, and redish-yellow leaves were scattered all along the grass and above the death plaques which she could just reach out and crunch if she stepped on them.

It didn't take long before she spotted her parent's graves. To be fair, they were actually just tombstones and empty caskets, as the rescue party had never recovered any of the bodies on that plane, which added to the tragedy.

A part of Sally was glad they didn't—their lifeless, pale faces would have cancelled out her vague recollections of large smiles and pink-pinched cheeks and perpetual chocolate chip cookie smells.

_Jim and Laura Jackson_, the tombstone read over their death dates. _Who we will always remember as caring people and loving parents._

Sally hated it. She hated those words because she was only five when they died and had no say in the engraving. Those were general words; default, without feeling. They were the reason nightmares came. Nightmares of what could have been.

Who was to decide for her that Jim and Laura Jackson were caring people? Loving parents? Five years of parenting was not enough, will never be enough, for Sally to comprehend why they deserved the title of loving. Loving meant acceptance, meant fear, meant hugs and kisses and tears and misses. Loving meant life. It did not mean death.

Sally was eighteen when she realized she didn't know how to love dead strangers.

...

It took time, but she convinced herself not to cry. These were usually how her visits ended, with unshed tears and concerning frowns, and there was something completely lonely about that.

The cemetery was public. Not many came, more so at the time Sally arrived, but she didn't want to tempt fate and have to run into any monsters, deadly or not, anytime soon. Although she had seen none at the cemetery, she didn't want to risk it.

She kept watch, she did, but Sally couldn't stop something dark flash at the corner of her eye only to see nothing there when she turned. Her head snapped back to her parents once before deciding to leave.

On the bus ride home, she wondered if she would ever get to meet the sweet thing who left withered lilies on her parent's grave.

...

Out of uniform, Thanatos felt vulnerable. He didn't understand why he had to change out of his usual black robed attire, but Hades refused to let him leave with his scythe—something about an occupational hazard. He _did_ try to explain it was purely for decorative reasons, but he didn't listen.

The god of the Underworld allotted one day for Thanatos to settle, as the business of death did not stop on holidays, but it's common knowledge an eternity amongst the dead took a toll on one's sanity. It was a rarity, of course, did Death ever "take the night off"—as Hades had put it—but when he did, he cherished the soul-screaming-free activities he partook in.

Like a quiet nap in a cemetery.

His twin, after all, was the god of sleep, and last time they had seen each other, Hypnos balked at Thanatos' revelation of his lack of. He did have the right idea. Sleep felt good when needed.

It was a nice day and Thanatos was sure the mortals were busy at work, so it was unlikely they'd come across the god of death lying on grassy graves. He didn't mind cemeteries, since they seemed least demanding, as soulless things like bodies were still respected the way they were.

He reclined deeper into the ground and relished beneath the shade of a tree, thinking how great it would be if nothing emotionally draining would come up today.

His ability to be completely wrong was astounding, he thought as he watched the mortal girl kneel in front of a gravestone a few feet in front of him.

Not wanting to rely completely on the Mist, Thanatos dodged his body behind the nearest tombstone, and knelt on someone's grave he fleetingly remembered as a saved file on his iPad. He didn't recognize the mortal, as his memory skimmed only ever on the dead, but he did remember the grave she was at with a jolt.

The plane crash—although Thanatos had squirmed through countless—had been judged as a Zeus case. Aboard the plane was a long lost descendant of one of the last sons of Poseidon, and they had been just at the wrong place at the wrong time, not even knowing their lineage. The poor mortals on the same plane had to suffer the same fate, and Thanatos took the time to gather each gently, adding their names to a special file—the Unintentionals File, which Thanatos had to constantly bring out everytime any of the three brother gods felt emotional turmoil.

And they said Death was cruel.

As this drudged through his thoughts, his eyes flew towards the girl, which he no doubt guessed as a relative. He expected tears, but none came, which he always admired mortals for their strength.

He couldn't help thinking it, but even if he was centuries and centuries old, she was the prettiest thing he had seen for a very long time. Her hair up in a braid, swiped to the side to show the nape of her neck, and by gods that was a nice neck—

_Oh_. That was wrong. That was only because he hadn't been up to the surface world in a while, really, and the skirt she wore didn't help, and since when did calves dip that smoothly—

It was a fact he needed to leave soon, but before he did, he conjured flowers on the Jacksons' grave, glad they were safe in death.

...

They met unintentionally; he was on a job, she had just lost hers.

Thanatos was very unlucky and very lucky Sally Jackson had the ability to see through the Mist, and, after the normal "_oh, my god_ is that a _scythe?_" and "I don't believe I'm role playing anything" and "yes, I'm Death", she made a jab that would forever label her on one of his infinite lists as Too Perceptive for a Mortal. (Not including the list she was already on, Too Pretty for Death, which he hoped Hypnos would not find when he did his annual hunt through Thanatos' things.)

"So," she began, dimples forming at the ends of her lips. "Do you always hide behind tombstones and leave dead flowers for other girls, or am I just a lucky one?"

In the end, they share a smile and split ways, because they live in different worlds where one is filled with death and despair and the other lives with familial problems they'd live with for the rest of their lives.

It's funny, how that works.


	3. piper, dylan

a/n: HUMAN AU! this was gonna be longer w different scenes but *COVERS FACE WITH HANDS*

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_Third – Piper, Dylan_

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"You're using me." Dylan said knowingly, trailing his lips over her open collarbone. "Aren't you?"

Piper recoiled when he hovered over one spot in particular. "Don't bruise. It'll show."

She waited as he moved back to work on her own mouth, ignoring his self-indulgent grin. As his hands roamed deeper up her side and kissed her neck enthusiastically, Piper lifted her eyes to her bedroom ceiling, feeling less stressed than she's felt all week.

They were supposed to be studying for a calculus test the next day, but got a little more preoccupied with jugular advances than actual parabolas.

"You know the new guy who transferred?" asked Piper, tracing a star on his bare shoulder with her index finger. "Jason something from Jupiter?"

Dylan breathed hotly near her ear. "Academy?"

"No, the planet," said Piper, rolling her eyes. "Yes, the Academy. For the exchange program. Percy's gone."

Pausing momentarily, he furrowed his eyebrows. "Jackson?"

"One worded questions are unbecoming to you, _Dylan Ventus,_" Piper noted as she shifted to fit evenly between his legs, his arms snaking her waist almost immediately. "And yeah. Annabeth's torn. Blames it all on the principal's wife. She's got a theory about the real motives and everything."

This made Dylan smirk larger, if it were possible. "And everything, I bet. Can't mess with Chase and Jackson. But why bring up the Jupiter kid?"

She tilted her head sideways and returned his amusement. "He's pretty damn cute."

He answered easily with a swift kiss to her bottom lip and she responded less gracefully. A hand was tangled in her hair, and another played with the hem of her sweatpants.

There was nothing Piper wanted to do more than cry at that moment.

"You're right," she said in places of the tears that were sure to fall if she didn't say anything sooner. "I _am_ using you. I'm so sorry."

Evasively, Dylan shrugged and continued kissing her like she hadn't said anything harmful.

"I want my dad to notice me. I want him to notice you. I want him to tell me to get over my 'rebellious phase'—" She could practically hear his laugh as he dropped kisses over her wet cheeks. "—and I want him to take me surfing again like we used to before my mom left and he married work. I want him to notice me, so I'm using you."

As if it were the first time Piper saw Dylan, he smiled genuinely—not a smirk or a grin like always—and said, "I've been okay with that for a long time, babe. I'm using you, too, 'member?"

He reached over and wiped away a tear with the back of his hand, the most gentle he'd been with her all evening. "You'll never love me back, after all."

Piper stared outside at the setting sun through her bay window, and Dylan stared at her. The confines of her bedroom walls would never hold a picture as terrible and lovely.

"Actually," said Piper, peeling down her collar a few inches down with a smirk jumping her tired lips. "Dad's coming back home tomorrow from New York. Maybe I can get something out of him if he notices I've been hanging out with my deadbeat boyfriend again."

Catching on, Dylan mirrors her—the way they're both so good at.

"Maybe he will."


End file.
